lifted up my shirt, drowning in humiliation. His eyes roamed along the damaged skin on my back and then he traced the contours of the scars with his fingers. I tensed, and he stopped for an instant.
“Do you ever look at them in the mirror?” he probed softly.
I nodded, feeling entirely exposed and humiliated by his close examination of my back.
“How often?” he inquired.
I bit hard on my lower lip to keep the tears at bay. “Every day.”
“And what do you see when you look at yourself?” he demanded.
“Don't...” I pleaded, wondering if he had a heart made of stone.
“Answer me,” he persisted.
I expelled a deep breath filled with pressure, and muttered in a voice that was barely audible. “I see a broken woman.”
“A broken woman?” he repeated calmly.
I nodded in slow motion, hiding the pain so he wouldn't notice how much I was still hurting.
“Do you wish it never happened?” he asked, as he kept running his fingers down my scarred skin.
“Yes,” I admitted in a tortured voice.
“Why? Because then you could look into the mirror and see beautiful smooth skin instead of this?” he taunted cruelly.
My heartbeat accelerated and I trembled as the word came out in one, shaky breath. “Yes.”
He lowered his head, laying a soft kiss on my back. “Do you sometimes regret that you tried to run away from me, Olivia?”
“All the time,” I breathed, shivering as his lips continued trailing my scars.
“Then you wouldn't have to carry your stepmother's death on your conscience, right?”
“Right,” I confirmed, trying to suppress the sensation of pain that spread from the center of my chest.
Alessandro exhaled behind me and brought his lips just below my ear. “Tesoro, you're not broken...you're just feeling sorry for yourself. There's a big difference.”
I kept my head bent low and lasted in silence as he caressed my back.
“Do you think you’ve earned them?” He continued the torturous questioning.
I shrugged and said emotionlessly, “I don't know...”
His caresses halted. “Yes, you do,” he interjected. “You look at yourself in that mirror and you hate me because you think you didn't deserve this. Am I right? Come, you can be honest with me.”
I broke down and expelled a shaky breath. “No, I didn't deserve it.”
“I can imagine you feel bitter about it, Olivia, but those scars are there for a reason,” he asserted softly. “For every time you pressed that goddamn trigger with the intention to end my life, you received a blow on your back. Exactly thirteen—no more, no less.”
The memory of that night infiltrated my mind and the painful pressure intensified further. It was hard to breathe. “So, you’ve gotten your revenge,” I said as if it didn't hurt me. “An eye for an eye...”
“Not quite, piccola,” he digressed. “If I wanted revenge, I’d have dealt with you in a manner I would have dealt with anyone else. You’d have endured torture until you begged for death that would be granted only when I grew tired of your suffering.” His fingertips continued brushing against my scarred skin as he leaned closer to whisper in my ear. “And believe me, it would take a long, long time for me to show that kind of mercy to someone who dared to pull a trigger on me. But the moment would come eventually and when it did, you would have gotten thirteen bullets in your body and your corpse would be tossed somewhere where no one would ever find it. And what have I done instead?”
I stared at him, horrified and unable to speak.
“I spared you and gave you the equivalent of a slap on the wrist compared to what I should have done…compared to what everyone else expected me to do. Thirteen blows on your back in exchange for thirteen bullets aimed straight at my heart. And even that didn't sit well with me.” Something flashed in his eyes and he let out a long, sharp breath. “Madre di Dio…I gave you a whole fucking year to heal. Do you have the slightest idea why, Olivia?”
I shook my head, completely distraught by what he told me.
“Think hard, tesoro,” he encouraged softly. “I kept you so sheltered over the years you seem to have a hard time distinguishing fiction from reality.” He gazed at me for a long time, waiting. “Well, then...do you have an answer for me?”
“No,” I muttered in all sincerity.
“Then think harder,” he asserted decisively, and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Why do you think I was emotional when I saw